"Dorothy, my darling! You do not repudiate me!" he faltered.
"No, indeed, papa! I am glad—glad that you have come," she responded, with an emphasis that left no doubt of her sincerity.
How his heart leaped with joy as the old childish form of address fell upon his ear! And there had been nothing forced about it, either; it had slipped out as spontaneously as in their happiest days long ago.
As a child, Dorothy had been very fond of her father and he of her; but as she grew old enough to perceive his moral weakness, her respect for him had begun to wane. Then, later, his indifference to duty, his neglect of, and last his unfaithfulness to, his wife had hurt her cruelly, had mortified her girlish pride, and aroused hot resentment of her mother's wrongs. Yet there had been times when she had longed with all her heart for his cheery presence and genial companionship, and when she had grieved sorely over those last bitter, disrespectful words she had flung so passionately at him.
"You—are—glad!" he repeated, with deep emotion.
"Yes, to see you—to hear you speak; to know that you have found your true self and your own place in the world, and I am very proud, too, of that!" She was beginning to recover her composure, although there were tears in her voice as well as in her eyes. "You do not look so very different," she continued, smiling up at him through them, and drawing a little away from him for a better view, "and yet you do; you are stouter, you have grown a little gray—a little older, but your eyes are the same, yet they are clearer, more tranquil; your face is graver, but more peaceful, and you are more——"
"I hope I am more of a man, dear," he broke in upon her passionately, then suddenly checked himself. "But I am not going to recall the past to mar this blessed reunion, and the future will prove whether I really am or not. I am filled with joy to find you willing to recognize the tie of kinship between us; it tells me that you have forgiven me; it augurs some measure of happiness for me in the coming years. You already know something of what I have been doing of late years," he continued, after a slight pause; "your mother has told you—I could not help overhearing some of the conversation between you—but you shall learn more in detail later. How strange that I should have met your husband to-day! Of course, I did not once suspect his relationship; he had the advantage of me there, and no doubt was sifting me with those clear, searching eyes of his. Your husband! To think of you being married, Dorothy! I cannot realize it! I am sure Alexander is a fine fellow, though."
"Indeed he is!" asserted the fair wife, flushing with pleasure at this tribute to her dear one. "I am more proud of him than I can tell you, and very, very happy. Listen! I think he has just come in."
Her quick ears had caught the sound of a latchkey being inserted in the outer door. The next moment she turned to see her husband standing upon the threshold, viewing, with evident astonishment, the interesting tableau before him.
"Oh, Clifford, dear!" said Dorothy, throwing out a pretty, jeweled hand to him, "come and greet my father, although I know that you have already met him. Isn't it wonderful that I should have found him so soon after what you told me this afternoon?"